The Convict's Tango
by CatieTehZombeh
Summary: Moriarty/Oc. Ella's a trained assassin. Her employer? None other than the infamous Jim Moriarty. What happens when she left helpless as a pawn in his sick, twisted game to end Sherlock?
1. Ella

"Ella, you know how you like doing things that make me happy?" _Gah. What will he have me do now? Another murder? Maybe fake his suicide, for the millionth time. Or maybe, he'll let me off, for once, and just let me kidnap someone and strap a bomb to their chest._ "Hello, Ella, I know you're there!" Jim said in a sing-song voice.

"Goddamn it Jim, I was reading! Can't I have one day off?!"

"Ooh, what are you reading? Wait, no! Let me guess." Jim always liked to show off, he always has liked being the cleverest in the room, and he made sure it was known. At first it was the coolest thing since sliced bread. Now it's just irritating as all hell. "Well, you've been reading a lot of Poe lately, and, I saw you reading the poems, and naturally you've passed that. Oh, and in your line of work, I'd say you're reading 'The Tell Tale Heart' or 'The Pendulum' or even 'The Fall of The House of Usher', but you're not… How is 'Arthur Pym', my dear Ella?"

"Pretty good, now I'd like to finish it." I click the end button. **Phone call disconnected**. I wait for a second, cautiously staring at the phone. It doesn't ring, so I pick up my book and finish where I left off. _**Beep. **__Damn, I actually thought he would leave me be._ I enter the pass code on my phone, and lo and behold, a text from Jim.

_**I need you today, come down to the office. No, make it the warehouse. Also Pym dies and the boy Peter ends up in Illinois to his discontent. **_

_** -JM**_

_Goddamn it! I am going to kill that bastard for spoiling the ending! Why can't I have one day to myself. I never get quiet days where I can read, maybe even get some coffee. When was the last time I even finished a book, for Christ's sake?!_

I sling my pinstripe bag over my shoulder, grab my coffee mug, and pour the steaming coffee I was going to enjoy, down the cold throat of my sink. I hunch my shoulders forwards, I was really looking forward to that coffee.

_ Mew. _Max lets outs a yawn and jumps down from his perch. He looks pretty well fed; I guess the house keeper really does feed him. I had my doubts; you can't really trust anyone anymore, at least not in this day and age.

_**Do you ever think your paranoia is the reason I don't have any friends?**_

_What are you a shrink? _

_** I'm just here to keep you sane. **_

_ Of course I have friends! There's Lily, and uh, oh, and there's Anna!_

_**Oh really, and what have they been doing recently?**_

___Uh not much, just you know the usual stuff they do._

_**Wrong, Lily got married last month, and Anna had a baby and moved to Scotland. **_

_ Oh yeah, they did. Hmm, that slipped my mind. Wait, why am I arguing with myself?! Maybe I am crazy. _

_** Yeah, maybe. **_

I once considered going to get checked out, the voices used to be pretty bad. They told me to leave Jim— forget the nonsense he puts me through for a cheap thrill, but how could I leave the only friend I've really ever been close to? Jim told me once he hears them too, that's when I knew not to pursue them, that's how I knew that I was normal. Ha. Normal. No what I meant was that's how I knew that I wasn't crazy. Well, you know what I mean.

London's pretty mundane for one of the greatest cities in the world. Most people lead boring lives. Wake up, job, come home; Do that for 5 or 6 years; get married, pop out a kid or two; work for another 25 years, retire, and die. I don't find it appealing. That's how I got my start with Jim; working with him is exciting; I love waking up in the morning not knowing what I'm going to do. I feed off of the adrenaline, and hey, the pay is pretty damn good. Better than working in an office.

I'm pretty sure if I wasn't a trained hit man, er, hit woman, I mean, assassin then I would probably end up as a Kiss-o-gram, and I never was very good at studies. My GSCE's pretty much disqualified me from any college that wasn't a community college. Passing a freshman Econ class? Hard. Sniping down a guy from 1000 feet away without being seen? Easy as cake.

The warehouse is painted grey, different from when I last saw it. I guess the boss wanted it to blend in with the rest of London. Grey is such an ugly color.

The door creaks as I open it. "Jim?" I say.

Nothing. I know he's here. What is he playing at? "Jim!" I yell. The echoing of my voice fills up the warehouse. The lights switch on; I shield my eyes with my hand. I can hear footsteps behind me, and I feel the barrel of a gun put to my head. "Are you going to stand there with a gun to my head, or give me a hug?"

"So you decided to come after all." His accent is a little thicker than usual; he must be planning something great. It's always been easy to tell if Jim was planning anything, or if he's been thinking hard, his accent goes from pretty much not there to 'holy Jesus, Irish man on campus.'

"Yeah, 'figured it's easier to come in than to be assassinated."

"I wouldn't kill you if you didn't show, I would let you go."

"You would kill me."

"Yeah, probably." He chuckled

"So what have you been planning?"

"Well, I figured I would drag this thing with Sherlock out a little longer than necessary. I love a good game."

"Yes Jimmy, I know, so what will it be this time?"

"Bombs."

"Again? You just did that. What was it? Like a year or so ago?"

"Heh, he won't figure this one out."

"Why, are you going to use his little house pet, what was his name, Watson? I really hate that bastard's blog."

No even better."

"Who?"

He puts his lips to my ear and whispers "My best assistant". The gun cuts the air as it's whipped. **Whoosh. **_**CRACK.**_I am assimilated into the darkness.


	2. Moriarty, Molly and Sherlock (Oh my!)

I finally come about, fully expecting to be chained to a chair, like the interrogations of my killing sprees, but I am not. My head and my mind ache.

I open my eyes. Dear god, why are the lights so goddamn bright, it's like the sun vomited in here. I jerk my eyes shut once again; adjusting is just too painful right now. I fumble my fingers around to fix my shirt, which feels a little too low cut for my own comfort.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell is this? Something metal with an abundance of tiny wires protrudes out of my shirt. What the actual fuck is going on?! I open my eyes and look down. It's a bomb. It's a goddamn bomb stuck to my chest. WHY IS THERE A BOMB STUCK TO MY CHEST?! And then it hits me like a ton of cinderblocks.

"Bombs."

"Who?"

"My best assistant"

That idiot strapped a bomb to my chest. To get back at Sherlock. What the hell. I mean I could see him doing this to a random civilian, maybe a child at play, or even some old lady, but me? I could kill Sherlock easily, why would he strap a bomb to my chest?

"Jim, what the hell are you doing?!" I spit, I know that asshole can hear me, he can always hear me. "Jim, I know you can hear me!" Still nothing, I guess he's just going to pretend he's not here. Well, too freaking bad, it's my turn to let hell loose. "James Moriarty, what are you doing?! Don't pretend like you're not here, I know you are!"

"Just playing a game, dear!" His singsong voice echoes from the shadows of the warehouse.

"James, I am not messing around, get your ass out here and get this bomb off of me."

"Ooh! James! Somebody's angry!—"

"Of course I'm angry; you strapped a bomb to my chest! If you don't get this off of me soon, I swear to god I will skin you alive!"

He walks out of the shadow that once concealed him. I'm not pinned down or anything, so naturally I tackle him. No, not tackle, sounds too cutesy. I punch him in the ribs and throw him to the ground and pin him down by the wrists. I reach into my pocket where I usually keep some knife or razor or even small gun.

"Looking for the pocket knife? Well I took it; you know how irrational people get when they have a bomb strapped to them!" He chuckles, I grab his jaw and I'm only seconds from ruining that award-winning smile when he says, "don't forget I have the detonation device in my pocket!"

I get off of him, and back up a few feet. "Why me? Why does it have to be me?"

"Well, this will give Sherlock something to care about finally, this one will really put his mind and heart to the test."

"What? Sherlock doesn't know me very well, why do you think he would even try to save me?!"

"Well, I happen to know he cares a lot for the nervous little thing he works with. What's her name—"

"You know her goddamn name, and don't you dare bring Molly into this! She worries enough for me; if she finds out that you've strapped a bomb to my chest she will have a stroke!"

"You have always been over protective of your little sister. Now it's time for her to see that this world isn't as full of sunshine and daisies as she thought. Now I've got a phone, you are going to call her and tell that you have a bomb strapped to your chest and it will go off if she doesn't get Sherlock to meet my demands."

"I hate you" I growl.

"Yeah, well honey, most people do." He pulls a phone out of his pocket, no doubt it's brand new, can't have anyone tracing the call of a worthwhile phone. He dials the phone slowly, humming some sort of music, most likely an aria of an opera he has attended lately. He passes the phone to me.

It rings slowly, or it feels that way. Time takes forever when you could be seconds away from death. "Hello, Saint Bartholomew's hospital how may I help you?"

"Hi can I talk to an employee, uh, Molly Hooper?"

"Who may I ask is calling?"

"E-Ella Hooper, her sister."

"Employees are not allowed to receive personal phone calls."

"Please, it's really important it's an emergency!" Now the tears start, Molly is going to have an aneurysm. I'm her older sister and I'm supposed to be there for her, but know I'm helpless.

"Okay, let me get her," Some elevator music starts to play on the phone. Jim pulls an old TV out of the shadows and puts it in front of me and turns it on. He's hacked into the security cams of the hospital. Both Sherlock and Molly are in the lab, looking at specimen. No doubt entwined in their work.

A lady opens the door of the lab and hands Molly the phone. "Hello, this is Molly Hooper," she stutters. Molly has always had a stutter. She was always a nervous kid; she would even jump at her own shadows. Heaven knows why she is that way, she just is.

My voice cracks with the strain of hiding my fear and from sadness, "Hey Molly, its Ella."

"El, what's wrong, you sound like you're crying?'

A force a sob down my throat, "Um, yeah I need to tell you something—"I have no idea how to begin. I mouth 'What do I say' to Jim.

"Tell her that you're caught in one of my ploys and you have a bomb on you, and you would like Sherlock to help you."

I put the phone to my mouth again, wipe the tears away and speak slowly into the phone, "Molly I need you to keep calm and put the phone on speaker,"

I can see she does so, and she puts the phone on the table. "Okay Ella, the phone is on speaker, Sherlock is in the room with me."

"Can he hear me?" On the screen I can see he doesn't look up, only nods.

"Yes he can. Now what is it? You're frightening me!"

I let out one sad little laugh, "Molly, everything frightens you."

"Ella, what is wrong! Tell me!"

"I only ask that you try to keep your wits, okay?"

"Yes, yes. Now what is going on?!"

"I am a pawn in one of Jim Moriarty's games, I was foolish, and now I have a bomb strapped to my chest."

Molly collapses to the ground in panic and tears. I can hear her crying from the phone, which makes me cry even harder. I see Sherlock swoop over and take the phone from the table.

"Ella I need you to keep calm, okay? I am going to find you, and I'm going to help you."

"Can Molly hear us?"

"No, I turned off the speaker so she doesn't have a mental collapse. She's in shock; she doesn't need to hear any more of this. Can you tell me where you are?"

I look to Jim, he shakes his head.

"N-no."

"Is Moriarty there with you?"

"Yes" I'm running on autopilot now, the words aren't mine, they are a response of fear.

Jim takes the phone from me, "Alright Sherlock, dear, I'd like you to solve this one. Where is the girl being kept? You have 6 hours or she'll be blown sky high!" Sherlock only nods, and Molly is still clutching herself on the ground having a panic attack. "Is there anything you'd like to say to Sherlock?"

I nod and he hands the phone to me, "Sherlock, can you do one thing for me?"

"Yes, what is it?" He says frantically.

"Take care of Molly for me," I mutter slowly, and I press 'End' on the receiver.


	3. The waiting game

My head is spinning. I can feel the blood in my face draining and then furiously flushing, the sweat that pours down my face is cold. I am going to hurl. Oh my god I am going to hurl right here, right now. I bend over; releasing the breakfast I ate on to the concrete floors.

"Nervous? That happens when you have a bomb on you. Not that I would know, just what others have told me." Jim looks at the mess I made, and then back at me, shaking his head, "Oh Ella, I thought you would have a stronger stomach than this"

"Involuntary reaction, I'm a fear vomiter," My voice is so full of sarcasm it hurts.

"Why so nervous?" he inquires, his voice jumps pitches like a runner jumps hurdles.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because there is a bomb stuck to my chest. Oh, actually it's because of your tacky suit!"

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Sometimes you gotta hurt people to live" I spit at him.

"It's not the bomb is it? It's Molly. You've got a bomb strapped to you that could go off any moment and you're afraid for Molly? You've really got your priorities screwed up."

"I'm not afraid of dying. Not anymore, anyways. You did that, all of the shit you put me through and make me do for you, it's not for the faint of heart,"

It's true, I'm not afraid of death. It's almost gobbled me up many times. Now it's like an old friend, or a warm blanket waiting for me. Working with Jim made me accept that my death could come at any moment without a warning. You get numb; you don't care about anyone really. Not you, not society, there's only one person you can hang on to. Unless you're Jim, he doesn't have anyone but himself to worry about. That's what makes Jim unstoppable; he has nothing left to lose.

"Not afraid of dying? Well that takes the fun out of everything," He whines.

"So where are you taking me?"

"I'm not taking you anywhere,"

"What, you're just going to let Sherlock find the warehouse. It's got all of your plans, are you really that stupid?"

"Again, ouch! Maybe I am that stupid, or maybe Sherlock is too clever!" He sings

So now the game's afoot. The waiting game, if there's anything worse than having a bomb strapped to your chest it's definitely the anxiety of waiting. Waiting for something to change, waiting for Jim to talk, or even waiting for death. The silence is overwhelming; I can hear my own heart beating a million miles per hour. I can hear my stomach churning. I can hear the words I want to scream collect on my tongue and them being crammed back into my mind. The silence allows the thoughts that terrify me the most to crawl into my mind. They are the monsters which rip my heart apart and leave my mind to recollect the fragments of my sanity, well what's left of it anyways.

"Hello, anyone home in there?" Jim is crouched down, about face with me.

"Huh. What'd you say" I mutter. I feel the slightest bit drowsy, it's from the crying and I know it.

"I said, aren't you even going to try to escape? You've just been sitting there like a loon for hours. I mean you're not chained up or anything. Why not run to Sherlock?"

"You would kill me if I tried." I mumble

"No. I wouldn't kill you, not yet anyways"

"You would kill Molly,"

"Yeah I would,"

"How long has it been?"

"Well since we dropped the bomb," He laughs at his own joke a little too hard for realism. What an ass, showing off again, hanging my death on display for laughs. "It's been just under 6 hours. Sherlock has 30 minutes until I blow you sky high,"

"Alright Sherlock, it's getting down to the wire here," I say under my breath.

"Well it's time, I think!"

"For what?"

"For your window of opportunity to close, you had the chance for six hours to escape, and you chose against it.—"

"—I'm not going to let you kill Molly!" I say raising my voice.

"Calm down, Mama Bear. I don't know why everyone tries to protect her, she can barely function without the aid of someone else I think it would just be easier to kill her. It'd be doing you a favor"

I know what he's doing; he's trying to provoke me. Well it's working; I can feel the anger rising in my chest. "Don't you dare talk about her like that, I will end you"

"When we were 'dating' I thought she was so clingy! How can one even be that codependent? She would always ramble on about her sister! She adores you so much. How would she feel if she knew you killed people for a killing?"

I run at him, and claw his face. He falls to the ground and covers himself. After punching his shielded body a few times I stand up. I ready myself for combat. "Are you a coward? Stand up and fight me! Better yet, you can blow me sky high so you don't have to say a girl kicked your sorry ass!"

He finally uncurls himself and stands up cautiously, his forehead is bleeding from the scratches I inflicted, and I can't help but feel a little proud about drawing blood. He holds his hands up in a truce motion. "I'm not going to fight a girl, what kind of respectable gentleman would that make me?"

"I hope you rot!" I snarl.

"Well as I was saying earlier. Your window of opportunity has closed and now you can't leave"

"Wasn't planning on it!" He drags a wooden chair out of the shadows, along with some rope and duct tape. "Taking the old methods, tying a damsel in distress to a chair and duct taping her mouth shut. How original!" What a despicable asshat.

"Get in the chair" his voice now turns monotone. This is when shit gets serious, I guess.

"Gladly" I plop myself in the chair, and Jim starts tying me in. It's only takes a few minutes to tie me in, and no surprise here, I can't move anything but my head.

"Now for the duct tape! Wait, there's something I've always wanted to do, and now you can't hurt me for it!" He pulls out the duct tape strap moves towards me and plants a kiss right on my lips, I bite him as hard as I can, so he secures the tape on my mouth. "Hah, my first kiss, with my assistant. How scandalous!"

"You fucking ass! Come back here so I can gut you and skip rope with your entrails!" I scream, but the tape muffles it.

"You shouldn't talk with marbles in your mouth dear." He laughs as he struts back into the shadows.

It's the waiting game again. Sherlock had better hurry up so I can break that assholes jaw. To keep the unwanted thoughts that linger in my head I think about how much I want to kill Jim and how I could do it. I could beat him to death. I could burn him. I could cut his appendages off one by one. I could hang him. I could drown him…

I start to sweat profusely. _Why is it so hot all of a sudden_? I turn my head, and look behind me. Of course, it's the grand finale that will be awaiting Sherlock. The whole warehouse is in an inferno.


	4. The End

Of course it's in flames, of course. I am going to die in here. I am going to die. Molly is going to live on without me. I don't know how she'll do it, but she will. Burning to death, good job Jim, playing on instinctual fears. Burning to death and drowning, the only fears that all humans really have, and now I wait for Sherlock or the fiery wall to consume me.

Jim is no doubt hiding out right outside waiting for Sherlock to save me. If I live I am going to burn Jim, like all the times he vowed to burn Sherlock. I will fucking kill him slow as I can.

The smoke is getting thick, and I struggle to take precious breaths. Well, it can't be too long now. Sherlock better hurry or I am going to suffocate in the hellhole. The smoke is a wall; a terrifying, black wall that could close in on me any second.

The door creaks open, and finally Mr. Holmes runs in. He discards his coat and pulls his scarf over his nose and mouth. His little house pet, John Watson, flies in too, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose.

"We need to find her and get her out if she hasn't already suffocated on this damned smoke." Sherlock says, his voice muffled by the scarf.

They begin to run around the warehouse searching like mad men. "H-help" I try to yell but it only comes out as a squeak, the smoke takes what little moisture in my lungs I had left. "Help" I say again, this time it is a little louder than a whisper. At least in 'Titanic' Rose had a whistle. One last time I try to yell help, and finally it is loud enough.

"Ella! John she's right there!" I assume he points to me; I really can't see him through all of the smoke. Within seconds the footsteps run to behind me and the ropes slowly loosen. The fire rages on, consuming everything Jim has worked for and it makes me happy, what an ass, I can't wait to stab him.

I can finally stand up and pull my shirt over my mouth, and Sherlock says "We need to get out. Now." I can't see anything, but I start to run.

"How do we get out, I can't see!" I choke.

"It's over here! I can feel the outside breeze!" John says. We all run to the door and try to squeeze out at once, which by the way hurts like hell, but we get out. We are at the back of the warehouse, between two canvas gates ensuring security between two buildings. We are hidden from public, which isn't too good, but right now I couldn't give a shit. I gulp down breaths and fall to the concrete. I'm exhausted; physically and emotionally.

"Where…the….fuck…is….Jim?" I pant. Sherlock starts to mumble something, when Jim walks out from the shadows.

"Glad you saved my assailant, Sherlock, don't know what I would do without you." He says mockingly.

I spring up and am about to pounce on him when he pulls out a gun, "You fucking bastard, you let me live through a fire to kill me out back, you sick bastard." I snarl

"I am sorry Ella but I have to. You see when you do what you do you have to eliminate anything that you care about, you gotta have nothing to lose. I do love you, though."

He pulls the trigger and I feel the bullet go through me. It's only seconds and I have gone. Finally death takes me.

**Epilogue**

He puts his head down on the edge of the hospital bed. "Amy, they say today is the day. I hope you are….at peace. I love you so much" tears stream down his eyes.

"Rich, are you okay?" another man says.

"Do you know what today is, Ben?" Rich sobs

"The wedding."

"She would have been my wife today; she would have been mine forever. I love her so much, how can I live without her?!"

"Rich, everything will be for the best. She will always be with you; this is just in one of gods plans. I promise you will be okay, buddy"

"I don't want to be okay! Why did god plan for that Semi to hit her? How is that fucking fair? She never did a bad goddamned thing in her life, why does he punish her over the millions of fucking murderers out there?" Rich screams.

"Hey, shh, calm down. Why don't you tell me a story instead of dwelling on her dying?" Ben says

"I don't know any stories"

"Why don't you tell me the greatest love story ever; the story of how you guys met?"

"W-well, it was freshman year of university and we both auditioned to be a play for drama. "

"What play was it?" Ben inquires

"I don't remember what it was, I just remember our characters names were Ella and Jim and they were assassins, and he loved her and had to kill her because of it."

"So what was she like, way back when?"

"Well, she was obsessed with Edgar Allan Poe and Sherlock Holmes novels." Rich chuckles.

The Doctor walks in with a few nurses, they are solemn and quiet. "Richard, it's time, are you ready?"

"Can I have a moment to say goodbye?"

"Yes, of course." The doctor says gently.

Richard leans over the beautiful, comatose woman on the bed. He kisses her on the forehead and begins to sob. "Amy, I love you so much. I believe in you. Today would have been our wedding. You would have been the most bride anyone has ever seen. You would have been my wife; you would have been Mrs. Amy Brook. I love you more than anything. Goodbye, Amy. You can rest forever in paradise, but don't forget to wait for me." He holds Amy's hand tightly and nods at the Doctor.

The Doctor presses a button on a large machine. The machine beeps rapidly and then stops all together, and so does Amy's life.

After minutes of silence, Richard finally chokes out, "She can finally go on her adventures."


End file.
